Between Hell and a Turning Point
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: "I heard what you said, Red. When he had the gun to your head. I heard you. You thought you were gonna die and you said…" [Post-2x14, Ch 4/4, Lizzington]
1. Chapter 1

AN: Title shamelessly stolen from The Pretender: Island of the Haunted. Gotta love game-changing conversations in the back seats of cars.

* * *

When the knock came, the sky had already begun to lighten in anticipation of morning. Liz grabbed her gun from under her pillow and thumbed off the safety, tiptoeing silently over to her motel room door.

For a brief, terrifying moment, she thought she would see Tom's face on the other side of the door. Talking to him over the phone was one thing. There was security in the distance, she could handle that. Face to face without some kind of restraints between them? She didn't want to think about it.

It wasn't Tom at the door, however. Of course it wasn't. Liz was kidding herself if she pretended she didn't know who it would be. The chances it was anyone but Red at this godawful hour were slim to none.

After all, it's what he did, wasn't it? Show up out of the blue and turn your life upside down. Forces of nature don't run on a schedule.

She sighed when she saw his weary face through the peephole. He looked subdued, and his eyes were red-rimmed under the sickly glow from the bare lightbulb that served as an outdoor wall sconce. He'd been crying, then. Well, fine. So had she.

She pulled open the door and he looked up at her, almost surprised to see her there. Did he really think she would ignore him? _Now?_ It took her a full fifteen minutes to climb out of the backseat when Dembe dropped her off earlier, her anxiety at letting Red out of her sight was so strong.

When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, rough. "I couldn't sleep," he said.

No '_Hello_.' No '_May I come in?_' Just '_I couldn't sleep_.'

"So you decided to make sure I couldn't either?"

"Did I wake you?" he asked. He didn't sound terribly concerned, like somehow he even knew her sleeping habits. She briefly considered playing on his sympathies and claiming that he had woken her, but, really, what was the use? This past month had been hell for her, for _both_ of them, and she had no desire anymore to add to the strife.

She was tired, all right. Exhausted, even. She just wasn't drowsy.

Liz looked away and shook her head. "No."

She stepped aside to let him walk past, not quite far enough for him to do so without brushing against her. A test. She wasn't sure what she wanted the outcome to be, but he didn't skirt around her in any exaggerated way and she felt satisfied with that, with the contrast of the heat from his body against the chilly air outside.

Red walked over to the chair by the mirror like he had the other morning, the morning he almost signed his own death warrant, and sat. He didn't speak again.

He seemed perfectly content just to sit and watch her. The notion should have been disconcerting. It _should_ have been. But, truth be told, if she could manage sleep right now, she wouldn't mind one whit if he sat there and watched her all night. Simply having him there, feeling his presence, it wasn't… it was…

Well, she didn't really know what it was. It was _something_, though, wasn't it?

Liz perched herself on the edge of her bed closest to him, one leg folded under her. She hadn't tied her robe closed this time and his eyes skimmed down her chest so quickly she might have missed it if she wasn't so aware of him at the moment. He'd been doing that more often lately. Either that or she was becoming more in tune with it.

The silence in the motel room was only broken by the ticking of his watch, the distant electronic hum of the ice machine in the parking lot. She stared up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly to stave off the tears that threatened to form in her eyes.

"I heard you," she whispered.

"Excuse me?" he asked. Not confused. Wary.

He had to be wondering, somewhere in the back of his mind. She didn't want him to wonder. She didn't want more secrets. Not now. Not after she knew. She wanted the air clear between them, even if it was still heavy with tension.

"I heard what you said, Red. When he had the gun to your head. I heard you. You thought you were gonna die and you said…" She swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry it took _that_ to convince me that you… that this… this isn't just some—"

"Don't."

She flinched. "Wh—"

"Don't apologize."

"Why? Because you think you don't deserve it? That's gonna get old real fast."

Red exhaled roughly through nose and pursed his lips, just this side of annoyed.

Liz sighed, snatched up her old stuffed bunny from the bed and picked absently at the singed fur. He didn't comment on it, didn't comment but he _saw_ it, he _recognized_ it. A chill ran through her at the expression on his face.

"At this point, I just need you to know that whatever you did, whatever you didn't do, I still care. I was furious with you about The Fulcrum _because_ I care, Red. You might not understand that, but…" She shook her head, blinking back frustrated tears. "Tom nearly destroyed me. Thinking I didn't mean anything to you? It was worse. Because I couldn't bear it if this was just another lie. I couldn't let myself get hurt like that again."

Clutching at the ratty old toy, she felt like a kid at a sleepover dealing with the fallout from discovering that her best friend had feelings for her, feelings she reciprocated fiercely, but had been trying to deny for the sake of the friendship.

She hadn't felt this angry about having feelings for someone since she was twelve. She thought she was more mature than that. For god's sake, _he_ should be, even if she wasn't.

"Why? Why did you choose me? If it was just for The Fulcrum, you could have tried to extract that information from me years ago without all of… this."

"You saved me."

"We've been over this—"

"No." His gaze dropped to the bunny and back up to meet her eyes. "You saved me. I would have died that night if not for you. You would have, too."

Liz froze, some of her jumbled memories untangling themselves at last. "It was you on the floor. Not my father."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Red held her gaze for a moment before he spat, "Because I'm an emotionally stunted asshole who speaks in metaphors and I don't deserve your gratitude for what happened that night."

She recoiled at the venom in his voice, self-directed though it was.

"You were burned, weren't you? I want to see." He opened his mouth but she cut him off. "Not now. Someday. Promise me. I think you owe me that. A scar for a scar."

He considered for a moment before offering her an uncomfortable half-smile and a nod.

"Good."

Liz's fingers found the tear in the seam of her bunny and she worked the concealed object out through the hole. Red's eyes lit on the little box and his face fell. He looked ill.

She was on her feet and across the room in a few quick steps. Standing over him as he sat in that chair, somehow looking as pitiful and small as he was miserable—it felt _wrong_. It felt…

Her knees bent almost of their own volition and she lowered herself to kneel on the dingy motel carpet at his feet. A wave of déjà vu washed over her—strong, painful, and heavy—when she placed the tiny box in his hand and closed his fingers around it. The perspective was different, though. God, she could barely breathe.

It was done. He had The Fulcrum, now. He didn't move for the door, however. He didn't move from the chair. He didn't move at all.

"I gonna try to get some sleep now," she said. She squeezed his hand when he still didn't say anything. "OK?"

His jaw clenched and he nodded, stiff and sharp.

He waited until her back was turned, until she tucked herself under the covers and curled on her side before he spoke. "I'm not going anywhere."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: The two-parter has become a three-parter and I've shamelessly stolen yet another line from The Pretender. :P (The rating may increase next chapter if my inspiration cooperates.)

* * *

Liz felt like she'd been hit by a truck. The physical exertions of the past month were starting to take their toll on her body and her cheap motel bed, what with its lumpy, unforgiving pillows and its saggy mattress with a spring right in the middle of her back, was not doing her any favors. She rolled over with a muffled groan and discovered that Hudson, her usual bedmate, had abandoned her to her misery.

"Oh, you little traitor. I get it, the bed's awful, but there's no way that's better."

Hudson gave a sleepy huff and settled himself more comfortably across Red's feet. Liz shook her head. How Red managed to fall asleep in that horrible chair, she'd never know. He'd never even taken off his coat. She hastily pulled on her robe and approached him, laid a hand on his shoulder to wake him.

"Hey." He blinked up at her, stretching to work out a few kinks in his neck, and stifled a yawn. "You need the bathroom? I'm gonna grab a shower."

He squinted at his watch, shook his head. "You go ahead. I have a few phone calls to make."

Liz nodded and gathered her things, trying not to think about how deep and throaty Red's voice sounded first thing in the morning. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him unfold himself from the chair and stand with slow, stiff limbs, and she fought off a twinge of guilt.

Once she closed the bathroom door behind her, she heard him greet whoever he dialed with his jovial business voice, completely devoid of any indication that he had recently undergone anything traumatic at all. If she ever doubted his public persona was an act, she certainly didn't now.

She turned on the shower and stepped under the weak spray, praying the hot water would hold out this time; she was shivering enough as it was.

* * *

Red's turn in the bathroom proved to be an… enlightening experience. The door was thin enough and the motel room small enough that she could hear every minute detail of his morning ablutions. She flushed, both from the unexpected domestic intimacy and the fact that he probably heard her as well. She scooped up Hudson, who lay curled at the foot of her bed on top of Red's heavy coat, and tried to ignore the noises.

When Red finally came out, he was still drying his face—pink and damp from washing—on a spare, threadbare hand towel. He looked at least twice as awake as he had before.

"Take the apartment," he said. The wording implied a command, but it sounded more like a plea. "I can't spend another night in that chair."

"You don't have to stay in the chair," she said. His nostrils flared at the suggestion, his eyes widening in surprise. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth; she hadn't really thought about it, hadn't considered how such a thing, offered so casually, would affect him. She discovered last night she could truly unsettle him, that with a single breath, she blew away all the lines _he'd_ drawn in the sand for a change and he hadn't been able to scrabble his way back to solid ground yet. Her feelings scared him. Well, good. They scared her, too.

Red stepped into her personal space, trying for some force, some intimidation. Hudson jumped out of her arms and trotted off for his food bowl.

"The apartment, Lizzy," Red growled. Liz shook her head. His lips were dry and chapped; when he stood over her this way in her dream, they had been soft and supple.

He flinched away under her attention, searching her face frantically until she looked up and made eye contact again, one question clear in his eyes. What was she _doing?_

What _was_ she doing?

"I'll think about it," she said at last. She reached past him suddenly, grabbing her phone from the night stand. "Cooper wants to debrief us. He wanted me to contact you before you took off to parts unknown to convince you to come in."

Thankful for the subject change, Red strolled across the room, acting as if he hadn't just been knocked off-kilter, as if he didn't feel her gaze on his back. "I wonder if you'll succeed," he tossed over his shoulder.

"Cute," she teased. "Not funny, but cute."

She could see his answering smirk reflected on the mirrored wall as he pulled open one of her dresser drawers, snooping blatantly; she came up beside him and took a sweater from the drawer as if nothing was amiss, and all at once there they were again, caught in a strange moment of intimacy that neither of them quite knew how to deal with. This close, he smelled of her face wash. How incongruous that was.

"We have to talk before we head in. I need to be prepared for what you're going to do about The Fulcrum. If you're going to disappear for a while, I need to know."

She didn't like how desperate she sounded. She didn't like how desperate she _felt_. But he was shaking his head and moving like he didn't know what to do with his hands until he took hers and swore again that he wasn't going to leave.

"I'll discreetly release a few things in retaliation for all the attacks they've made against me lately. Nothing too damning, just information I couldn't possibly have if this wasn't in my possession. That should reestablish the balance of power and shift attention away from you."

"The target will be on your back again."

"There's always a target on my back. Or a price on my head."

"_Red_." The reminder of the auction settled like a stone in her stomach; she tightened her hands around his. "I need to know you're going to be careful. I need to know you're going to be OK. Don't make me save your ass again."

"You promised you wouldn't."

"That's wishful thinking on your part, I did no such thing. I wish caring about you didn't come with strings, but it _does_, Red, it means I can't stand the thought of losing you. You wanted me? Well, now you've got me. And you want to tell me to be cautious and not to take unnecessary risks? Then, damn it, I want the same from you! It's gotta go both ways."

"Lizzy, please, you need to breathe, you need to eat, you need to—"

"I need _you_," she said, sliding her hands forward to grip his elbows.

She took a step closer and he shook his head even as he leaned in to close the rest of the distance. Their lips met with a breathless whimper that Liz couldn't identify as his or hers. Perhaps it was both. His mouth tasted like security and her own spearmint toothpaste.

They stood in the middle of her run-down motel room and just _kissed_. They kissed like she kissed in high school, when everything was still fresh and new. The only real contact, the only movement in the kiss came from their mouths and lips—no clutching or grasping or groping. His hands wrapped loosely just below her ribs, more for the stability than anything else.

It was only after they broke the kiss that they clung to each other in an urgent embrace, holding each other close as their pounding hearts slowed and their breathing calmed.

"We have to go."

"I know," he said, "I know."

* * *

AN: "Cute. Not funny, but cute." One of my favorite Miss Parker/Jarod lines ever.


	3. Chapter 3

Liz stood beside Red's chair in Cooper's office while she listened to him give his version of the events at the auction, watching over him like some sort of twisted guardian angel—protecting him from what, though, she wasn't sure. He was safe here. As safe as he was anywhere, at least. Safe wasn't really a concept that applied to him.

Or to her anymore. If it ever did.

She tried as hard as she could to project an air of business as usual in front of her coworkers despite the lingering tingle of Red on her lips. Even here, she found it difficult to ignore.

Red faltered almost imperceptibly while he described Yaabari's plan for him, just the slightest catch in his voice as he recounted having the gun pressed against his head; she gripped his shoulder in support without thinking and when she felt thick, gnarled tissue under the fabric, she almost took her hand away in shock. Resolutely, she kept it there, rubbing her thumb back and forth, back and forth, grounding, soothing. A lifetime ago—or perhaps only a year and a half—he'd done something similar for her, in a bunker buried deep underground. She hadn't thought so charitably towards the gesture then, regardless of the fact that it did indeed calm her nerves.

Ressler watched her curiously, a question in his eyes, but she looked away, studying the various knickknacks on Cooper's desk without really seeing them.

Red didn't mention what he said with the gun to his head—wouldn't mention it, ever—but she heard the hollow echo of it over and over just the same, bouncing off stark white walls with the report of a gunshot.

He said her name. He said her _name_. She could've lived the rest of her life without knowing that Raymond Reddington would consciously choose her name as his last word on this earth, but she knew now and there wasn't a chance in hell she'd ever forget it, that this powerful, worldly, _dangerous_ man thought of _her_ over everything and everyone else.

Somehow, she'd become important to him, and in a very visceral way, at that. More important than The Fulcrum, the single object between him and certain death at the hands of his more mysterious enemies. The ones with any sense, at least, not jumped-up errand boys spending someone else's cash to buy significance at the expense of Red's skull.

Red summed up his ordeal for the team, succinct and dispassionate; he must have used up every last ounce of false cheer on his morning phone calls. "So barring some unforeseen emergency," he concluded, "I'm taking the week off."

It was the first Liz had heard about it, but she wasn't worried. She came in with Red. She'd leave with him, too. They could discuss the details later.

"Where're you headed this time, Reddington?" Ressler asked, with a bland smile on his face. "Someplace warm?"

"Well, Donald, that's for me to know and you to wonder enviously about." Red exchanged a glance with Liz before he stood and palmed his hat onto his head. "I'll keep Agent Keen informed of my whereabouts." 

* * *

Liz and Red fell into step with each other descending the staircase outside Cooper's office, almost close enough for their hands to brush as they walked. They received more than their usual share of peculiar looks from the bare-bones staff, but then again, the atmosphere between them was indeed more charged than usual. They were loath to leave each other's side; perhaps the others were picking up on that.

"Hey, Liz, you got a minute?"

Ressler. Liz sighed. The elevator doors slid open in front of her and she gazed longingly at the battered yellow walls before turning back around. "I, uh… I guess."

Reluctantly, she trailed after Ressler into their office, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to see what Red was doing. Maybe when they were further removed from the incident, she'd have an easier time letting him out of her sight for more than a few minutes. As it was, the distance, the unknown, the uncertainty of it, was damn near torture. She tamped down the panic rising in her gut.

Ressler shut the door behind them and turned to face her.

"What's going on with you and Reddington?"

Liz's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"There's something you guys aren't telling us about last night."

There were a lot of things they weren't telling them, about last night _and_ this morning. There were promises and kisses and surrender, her dog curled up on his coat, a hasty breakfast shared outside a food truck with shoulders hunched against the cold. There was '_Lizzy_.'

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm not sure," he said with a frown. "All I know is I've never seen Reddington so… withdrawn. No stories, no insults, nothing. Just straight reporting and that half-hearted line about his vacation. Off the record… What the hell happened? He never really seems despondent. Not even when you won't give him the time of day."

"You weren't there," she said. "You didn't see how they treated those people. It was dehumanizing in the worst possible way. What's he supposed to do, just shrug it off like nothing happened?"

"Come on, Liz, this is Reddington we're talking about here; he takes everything in stride. He always has an escape plan, even if it means letting himself be used in some way. Somehow he always manages to come out on top."

Liz shook her head. "Whatever you think of the guy, he's not just some commodity to be bought and sold, he's not…" She stopped short, took a slow, deep breath while she tried to gather her thoughts; she doubted she was making any sense at all and if she kept going like this she would end up in tears. "He didn't have a plan this time. Once he knew what Yaabari intended to do with him, he genuinely thought he was going to die."

"We have near-death experiences every other week."

"This was different. If I'd gotten there one second later, if I even hesitated to pull the trigger…" She trailed off, her mouth moving wordlessly. She saw in vivid color an image of Red crumpled to the floor in Yaabari's place, his blood a rapidly spreading pool around his lifeless body.

Ressler watched her, thoughtful. "It really spooked you, didn't it?"

"Just because he's the bane of my existence doesn't mean I want him dead," Liz said in a rush and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Even just calling him the bane of her existence made her sick to her stomach, but the alternative, letting Ressler know how much Red meant to her now… She didn't know if she could. She didn't know if she _should_. She had built up a reasonable amount of trust with her partner so far, but there were only so many secrets she could ask him to keep for her. He might tease her and Red about being lovers, but there's no telling how he'd react to finding out they actually were.

_If_ they were lovers now, that is. Kissing in motel rooms was all well and good—brilliant, even—but it could be a one-off for all she knew. Their relationship had been volatile from day one. What was true yesterday wasn't necessarily true today, and it might be something completely different by this time next week.

"OK," Ressler said, holding his hands up, defensive. "I get what you're saying. I still don't get what the hell he did to finally get off your shit list, though. Keeping an asset alive is one thing, but back in Cooper's office, that was just…" He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation; he didn't even displace a single strand in the process. "God, I don't even know what _I'm_ saying at this point. You two are gonna drive me to drink. Get some rest while Reddington's gone, Keen. You obviously need it." 

* * *

Red's car was idling at the curb when Liz reached it. She yanked open the door and slid onto the seat next to Red before he or Dembe had a chance to climb out and open it for her. Dembe exchanged a silent glance with her before pulling out into traffic. He was worried about Red. Probably even about her.

Red was much too quiet as they drove. Faraway, pensive, and tense. If he had been reliving the night before even half as many times as she had, she could certainly understand why.

She needed to kiss him, to feel some vitality in him again, to know he was all right—but she would wait. No doubt there were cameras everywhere so close to the Post Office, watching and waiting for any behavior that could be deemed suspect. Touching him in Cooper's office had been foolish enough.

"Where are we headed?" she asked, hoping that breaking the uneasy silence would alleviate the tightness in her chest.

"I assumed your motel."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"After you drop me off."

He studied her face for a long moment. "I was under the impression you didn't want me to leave."

"No. You're right, I don't. I just didn't expect…" She frowned, still confused. "My motel?"

"I thought you were happy there," he said, a vague self-satisfied challenge in his tone.

Shrugging off her annoyance, she said, "It's not really your speed, is it? Your vacations probably cost six months of my salary."

"My vacations?"

"You told Ressler—"

"Oh," he said, and he looked a little amused, a little sheepish, "I said I was taking the week off. I didn't say I was going anywhere. I told you I wasn't."

"You planned on spending the week with me? You want to?"

"At your motel? No. With you?" He smiled, small but painfully sweet. "Lizzy, more than anything. If staying at your motel is the deal-breaker, then by all means, we'll stay at the motel. Although, do you really want to spend another night with a spring in your back?"

"How d'you know there's a spring in my back?"

"Despite the fact that it wouldn't take a genius to make that particular educated guess, I made the mistake of sitting on your bed while you were in the shower this morning." 

* * *

Hudson launched himself at Liz and Red as soon as the motel room door creaked open, his fuzzy little body literally vibrating with excitement at seeing them again so soon. Red crouched down to ruffle his fur and scratch behind his ears. Hudson met the attention eagerly with wet doggy kisses. Liz rolled her eyes at the pair of them; she was starting to suspect Red had some kind of gourmet doggy treats stashed in a pocket somewhere.

She flopped down hard on her lumpy bed, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the troublesome spring. What the hell were they going to do here for a week? She was grateful on most nights she actually made it home for how dead tired she usually was because she didn't have to face the crippling boredom of the place. There weren't many options—were they going to just lie in bed, eat take out, and watch movies all day?

Come to think of it, that didn't sound like such a terrible thing, not with the prospect of Red's company. What was his taste in movies, anyway? Obscure foreign films with subtitles? Pre-code era? Film noir? Popcorn blockbusters?

Once Hudson lost interest in him, Red sat gingerly on the edge of Liz's side of the bed and braced himself with an arm on the far side of her body. Angling his head so he could meet and hold her gaze, he said, "Please take the apartment, Lizzy. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but there's only so much that's within my power to give you."

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand where it rested next to her hip and said, "I told you. You don't have to stay in the chair tonight."

He took a stuttering breath and shook his head, emphatic. "That's not the reason I'm—"

She leaned forward swiftly and cut him off, finally giving into the temptation to kiss him again. He sighed into her, a murmur of a moan at the back of his throat.

Without the pressing obligations of work hanging over them, this kiss did not stay chaste for long. Liz tugged at his tie to loosen it, working her fingers down fingers down under his collar to find the ridge of thick and shiny skin that marked the edge of the scar tissue she felt though his shirt. He shivered.

"Lizzy," he said quietly, his breath ghosting over the skin of her neck; she suppressed a shiver of her own. _This_ was how she preferred to hear him say her name.

Toying with the next button on his dress shirt, she came to a decision. If they were going to do this, she'd be damned if it happened in her pitiful excuse for a bed. She nuzzled her cheek against his and whispered, "Show me the apartment, Red."

He pulled back to search her face, and nodded slowly.

"Let me get Hudson's food bowls. He deserves a vacation from this place, too." 

* * *

Liz didn't know what exactly she expected when Red told her he bought her an apartment weeks ago, but it certainly wasn't this.

It wasn't just a penthouse, opulent and expensive. It wasn't overwrought and showy. It had _character_. With homey little touches, the sort of things she could see Red standing in a shop somewhere and picking up because they made him think of her. It made her wonder just how long he'd been putting this place together. Had he collected these things over the years and saved them for her, or had he just paid attention and remembered—even taking into account the things Sam probably shared with him—and went on a shopping spree when he bought the apartment?

God. Apartment was such a… generic term. He hadn't given her an apartment.

No.

He'd given her a _refuge_.

Really, she should have known better. He was at his most comfortable in hidden little bolt-holes or small, cozy flats and cabins surrounded by books. Why would he give her a place that offered any less security?

"Do you like it?" he asked, hesitant. He watched her make her way around the space, looking as if he was having a hard time keeping himself from following her, or pacing where he stood. He was a ball of nervous energy, and she understood why; she hadn't said a single word since she opened the front door.

Making her way back to stand in front of him, she took his hat from his hands to stop his restless fidgeting and laid it down on the side table next to the couch. She took a step closer and brought her hands up to his face, his neck, pulling his forehead down to rest against hers.

"Do I like it? _Red_." She kissed him, slow, drugging, thorough. "It's the nicest thing anyone has ever given me," she whispered; she kept her eyes closed, afraid that if she made eye contact, she would start to cry. "That's not even a fair thing to say. No one else could ever do something like this. It's too much."

"It doesn't matter. I want you to be happy, I _need_ you to be happy." He threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed his lips to hers. "Content." Another kiss. "Safe." Another. "I've caused you so much pain. I don't deserve—"

"Shut. Up. When it comes to me, I decide what you deserve. Not you."

"Lizzy, I—I'm having a very… difficult time… wrapping my mind around the idea that you're here with me. That you're willing to let me—"

"I'm not _letting_ you do anything. I care about you. I _want_ you. _You_. Not just this"—she waved her hand around the beautiful place—"or whatever else you can offer me. You've been trying to convince me you feel that way about me for months, the least you could do is accept the same from me. Because let's face it—we're in this deeper than either of us intended, but we're _here_. Together. OK?"

She cupped his face, scratching her nails over whatever bit of scalp she could reach. He nodded against her and angled his head, seeking another kiss which she supplied without hesitation. She pushed his coat from his shoulders and he let it fall to the floor, uncaring of the rough treatment of the expensive wool. Using whatever strength he had left in his arms after the long, trying couple days they'd had, he lifted her so she could brace her legs around his waist and carried her down the hall to her room.

By rights, both of them should be in therapy after what happened at the auction, but instead… instead they chose to deal with it like this. Not necessarily the wisest move, or the healthiest, but when was the last time either of them claimed to make good choices?

Liz pulled Red down with her onto her new bed, heedless of their shoes, their remaining clothing. She plucked at the buttons on his vest and shirt even as he tugged her own shirt out of her waistband, as he went to work undoing her fly. She wriggled and shifted to slide her pants off her legs as he took a nipple into his mouth, the rough of his tongue dragging across the sensitive skin, sending twisting, curling heat along her nerve endings to her groin.

She freed him from his pants and boxers and took him into her hand, stroking him slowly from base to tip. He groaned into her shoulder, rocked into her touch. "_Lizzy_."

"Please, Red…"

She wrapped her legs around his hips, her feet catching in the tangle of clothing still twisted around his thighs, and guided him so he could sink into her gradually, bit by bit.

It shouldn't feel this good. It _shouldn't_. Nothing should. Her pulse pounded in her ears, throbbed between her legs as she clenched herself around him, moving with him in a desperate, hurried dash to completion.

If this was the culmination of that tango he promised in that innuendo-laden speech he gave in Uzbekistan, he well and truly undersold it.


	4. Chapter 4

Liz answered her phone with a sleep-rough, "Keen," even though her first instinct was to chuck the damn thing across the room and hope Hudson would have his way with it.

She and Red had spent the better part of a week learning how they fit together in this new and terrifying sort of partnership, and up until this morning they had been uninterrupted by the vagaries of their normal, everyday lives.

If she tried, she could almost imagine they were just an average couple playing hooky from their obligations for a few days. It was frightening just how easy it was to imagine that, how months of irritation and fear and animosity could be wiped away with a single word, how her feelings for him blossomed and grew once she let go of the tight rein she kept on them.

Of course the real world was bound to catch up to them eventually. Life was rarely that considerate of her.

"Hey, Keen," came the voice on the phone. "Did I wake you?"

Ressler. Liz bit back an aggravated groan. Bastard sounded too amused for his own good.

"What the hell do you want? It's 6 AM."

"Someone's sounding chipper this morning."

"Go to hell, Ressler."

"Nice," he said, chuckling. "You know, Keen, I realize you get time off for having to shoot someone, but no one expected you to really take this much of it."

"Good to know my mental health is worth less to you guys than a pile of paperwork."

"Oh, come on. What if Reddington brings us a new blacklister?"

"Well, he hasn't done that, has he? At least he's being considerate of my well-being."

"Shit, Keen, it'd be the least he could do after you literally killed a man for him. But chances are he's just living it up on some tropical island and we won't see him for another week minimum. Which is a shame, 'cause I could use some information on a couple of cases tied to his old blacklisters. It feels like we might've opened a can of worms with these guys and I don't want any surprises. Which would mean I'd have to be able to get ahold of him," he said, obviously angling for a favor. "Which is why I called."

"Sorry, Ressler, that's not really something I can help you with."

"Reddington didn't tell you how to contact him?"

"This may come as a shock to you, but he rarely tells me more than he tells you."

"But he said he'd keep you in the loop. It's been five days. Why aren't you pissed at him?"

"Who says I'm not?"

"Oh, please. When you've got him in the doghouse, you have this tone in your voice. Sorta like he forgot your anniversary…" He trailed off, absently. "But, really, what business is it of mine if you've kissed and made up? All I care about is whether you can convince him to take a look at these cases. It's kinda time sensitive."

"Ressler, I don't know what you expect from me, but…" She sighed and closed her eyes, counting to ten. "Do you think it's a matter of life and death?"

"Could be. We can't know for sure without knowing what Red knows."

"Fine. If you really need to talk to him, he's with me."

"Why on earth would he be with you at six in the…" He went dead silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Oh."

"Ressler, whatever you're thinking—"

"No, forget it, never mind. Text me the address and I'll be there in an hour."

"Alone?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Keen. Yes, alone." The line went dead.

Liz dropped her phone into the bed linens carelessly and rolled over, tucking herself in to Red's broad, scarred back. She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of his neck.

Red stirred, humming his appreciation with a low rumble. "Good morning," he said, in that deep, sleepy voice that twisted pleasantly in her stomach.

"Not likely," she said quietly, her lips brushing against his skin.

"Did my ears deceive me or did I hear the dulcet tones of Donald Ressler on the other end of your phone call?"

"Mmm, unfortunately."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to know where you were," she said, tentative but steady. "I told him."

Red stiffened. "You might have just made your life a hell of a lot more complicated."

"He already thought we were hiding something from him. I might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb."

* * *

"Nice place." Ressler stood just inside the door with his hands in his coat pockets, taking in the room. "Guess Reddington didn't really have to twist your arm to get you out of your motel to come here at the crack of dawn."

"I don't see why I shouldn't be here at this time of day, considering the fact that it's my apartment."

"Come on, Liz," he scoffed. "No way you can afford a place like this on an FBI salary. Not unless Reddington wrote some bizarre clause into his immunity deal that you get paid quadruple to work with him."

Liz snorted. "I wish. No. It was a gift."

"A gift."

"Yes."

"A gift from number four on the Most Wanted list, that you accepted without feeling the need to inform us about."

"Geez, give me a break, I haven't even spoken to you since I moved in."

"Did he give it to you because you saved his life?" he asked. He picked up a framed photo of her and Sam on the table nearest him and examined it.

"No. He gave me the key weeks ago."

He put the frame down again carefully, shaking his head. "You're not making a good case for yourself here, you know that, right?"

"Should I be?" she challenged. He studied her in awkward, tense silence for a long moment before she rolled her eyes and ushered him into the living room just as Red walked in, trailing muggy air from the bathroom with him.

"Did you shower here?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, Donald, I did. Obviously."

Ressler's eyes bounced back and forth between them. "Both of you have been here since you left the Post Office?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Didn't you say those cases were time sensitive?"

"Jesus. How is this my life now?" He pulled a stack of files out of his briefcase and handed them to Red, who flipped through one nonchalantly.

"Well, I, for one, can't give this my full attention on an empty stomach. Either of you want breakfast?"

Ressler looked at Liz with his eyebrows raised. "He cooks?"

"Shouldn't you know that already?"

"Hey, I was only his case agent, I was never—"

"If you know what's good for you, you won't finish that sentence."

Once they were settled into the kitchen, Liz read the case files out loud while Red cooked and Ressler sat on the far side of the small table, just observing the two of them. They didn't act differently around each other in any significant way, and they could tell the wheels were turning in his head as he tried to decipher if that meant they had been doing whatever they had been doing with each other much longer than he might have guessed.

They bantered back and forth, bouncing ideas off each other, Liz's more clinical perspective versus Red's emotional, experiential one. She loved listening to his reasoning, learning the ins and outs of how his mind worked, and she knew he felt the same about her. By the time the food was cooked and eaten, they managed to form a pretty solid, workable theory that even Ressler had to admit had promise.

Ressler packed up the case files slowly and stood; he hesitated in the hall when they followed to walk him out.

"Call me crazy, but that was actually… sorta pleasant."

"I'm delighted to have such a rousing endorsement from you, Donald."

"You do good work together," Ressler said, earnest. "I almost get how you would…" He shook his head. "Never mind. I may have the flimsiest excuse for plausible deniability known to man, but hell if I'm not gonna take advantage of it. See you on Monday. Or whenever."

* * *

Liz plopped herself down next to Red on the sofa.

"I guess that wasn't so bad," she said. "Like ripping off a band-aid. Kinda makes it seem like maybe we can move on from this. We just have to get back into the swing of things."

"I agree." He searched her face, thoughtful. "Hopefully, Ressler won't still decide to make your life complicated the next time working with us isn't quite so easy."

She shrugged. "When has my life ever been simple?"

Red put his arm around her, brushed her loose hair back from her face, and pressed a kiss against her temple. "Someday," he said haltingly, searching desperately for the right way to phrase what he wanted to say, "if a simple life is what you want. I hope I can give it to you."

"Only if it's what you want. What you want matters to me. _You_ matter to me. Don't go planning my future without you." She took his free hand in hers and squeezed. "Promise me that. All those contingency plans of yours, God forbid, if they're needed, they're needed. Otherwise, I want you to be part of my life. If you want that too, then—"

"I do want that. I do. For as long as—"

"—both of us are alive," she finished, before he could say something foolish implying she would tire of him. What they ended up saying bore an unmistakable resemblance to a vow they'd each made once upon a time, to different people. When they were different people themselves.

In Liz's experience, romantic love had always been fickle or fleeting or false. It involved too much ego stroking and accommodating and compromise—mostly on her part—for her liking. It had been true with Nick and it had certainly been true with Tom. Even before she knew the truth about Tom, their relationship didn't quite live up to her expectations. Not that she would have admitted that out loud to anyone. The love she offered her partners wasn't conditional even when theirs seemed to be. Sure, she wasn't the most effusive person on the planet and she had a tendency to withdraw into herself, but at least she could say when she loved, she loved with her whole heart. To her own detriment, at times.

What Red felt for her, though… Love was too trite a concept to describe it. He _worshipped_ her—with every fiber of his being, every broken shard of his shattered soul. He showed her, freely, now that she'd given him the chance to do so. She didn't know what to do other than sit back and bask in it, try to understand and absorb this thing, this wonderful beautiful thing that truly had been missing in her life, and try even a little to reflect some of it back to him. Because whether he believed it or not, he deserved to feel this way too; she suspected the kind of devotion he offered her had been missing from his life for far too long as well.

If she was his light, then he was hers. Light wasn't always a pleasant thing; it could be blinding before your eyes got a chance to adjust. You might not even realize you're living in darkness until those first harsh, revealing rays shine through and chances are you'll reject that truth outright before you're even able to come to terms with it. Liz certainly had, or at least she tried to. But light is persistent. It's always there, whether you open your eyes to it or not, and Liz had finally opened hers.

She would tell him that. Someday. Until then, she would show him.


End file.
